Just a normal day then.
“We’ve got about thirty seconds before that mob catches up with us. Ideas?!” snarled Olivia.
Benissimo’s eyes scoured the street ahead till they finally rested on the pub coming up on the right. It was old with something of a bell tower at its roof.
“I say we make a stand and pray that Mr Fox ignored my order to have no back-up at the ready!”
A second later, Benissimo kicked the door of Flannigan’s Sports Bar and Brewery clear off its hinges. The barman was alone and eating a bacon sandwich, or at least would have been had his mouth not fallen open at the sight of the wild-eyed Ringmaster and a broken door lying limply on the floor.
“Excuse me, barkeeper, how exactly does one gain access to your roof?!”
A hummingbird came careering in from outside, and was promptly flattened by Olivia Armstrong and a well-aimed bar stool.
“Well done, Livvy,” smiled Terry.
“You’re welcome, darling.”
The bartender, however, was far from impressed. “M-my door …”
As the buzz of thrumming wings grew louder, Benissimo’s whip tore across the bar area, vaporising the man’s sandwich into a cloud of bready bacon.
“APOLLO’S FLAMING CHARIOT, MAN – THE ROOF?”
Tick-tock, the Mouse and the Clock
r Cogsworth, or rather Great-uncle Faisal, explained in great detail how the switch had come about. His body was failing him and if he was to continue his research, there was to be no other way. Shortly before his real body had drawn its last breath, the scientist and marvel that was Faisal transferred his soul to the rusting construct before them.
Tinks was speechless. It wasn’t sadness or joy, or even the shock of what had become of his old relative: it was pure scientific wonder. His great-uncle Faisal had crossed the line between man and machine and had become something of both. He was a complete anomaly, and even stranger in his uniqueness than the Central Intelligence, though thankfully for Ned and his friends a good deal nicer to talk to.
“And you’ve really found a way to bring down the machine?” managed Ned, who was in as much awe as Tinks but was at least still capable of talking.
Faisal’s brush-like moustache smiled and his eyes glowed a little brighter. “Better than that, young man. I can bring down his entire network – every ticker from fly to hawk, every soldier-class Guardian, the whole blasted lot of them!”
Whiskers, who was still perched on Faisal’s lap, gave out a loud “Scree”.
“Not you, my little friend – you’re different.”
“How is Whiskers different?” asked Ned. “You two know each other, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, I should say so! Your Whiskers here was the prototype for my Debussy Mark Twelve – my absolute finest creation. When I bought this museum, the owner was in a right old state. His faithful guard dog was terribly unwell and about to be put down. I took it upon myself to give its soul another home at the moment of its passing. So you see, it was Whiskers who paved the way for me to live on.”
Lucy slapped her hand on Ned’s shoulder and threw her head back with laughter. “Ned’s mouse is a dog?” she said.
“A St Bernard – absolute whopper of a thing,” laughed back Faisal.
“I knew he was special,” said Tinks, “but a dog?”
“Whiskers?” murmured Ned. “Is it true?”
His wind-up companion bobbed its head up and down proudly and for the first time let its tiny tail wag.
“That is too weird,” said Ned.
“I’ve seen weirder,” grinned Tinks, who was now looking squarely into the bulb-like eyes of his great-uncle.
“Before you were born, Ned,” Faisal went on, “the tales of your parents’ exploits at the Circus of Marvels were a thing of legend amongst the Hidden. I sent Whiskers here as an anonymous gift to your dad in the hopes that he might be useful.”
“He is,” smiled Ned, “sometimes.”
The monocle at Faisal’s eye suddenly turned, focusing now on Ned’s shoulder. Suddenly the old Ticker’s arm flew out to where he’d been looking, its pincer-like fingers snapping angrily shut round something.
“But not useful enough, it seems!”
Very slowly Great-uncle Faisal opened up his palm to gasps as he revealed a twitching, broken ticker fly. “Where might this have come from, I wonder?”
Ned racked his brain – he’d only been at the BBB’s Nest. Surely it couldn’t have come from there?
“You realise this probably means you’ve been tracked here?” said Faisal.
“Master Armstrong, when you came back from your mission with Bene, you were scanned by the Nest’s security detail, weren’t you?” asked a suddenly alert Tinks.
“Scanned? Well, no … Mum and Dad were so angry I just waited outside for them to finish with Bene and—”
BEEEP. “INTRUDER ALERT.”
The room turned red as emergency warning lights flashed in time with the recorded message.
BEEEP. “INTRUDER ALERT.”
BEEEP. “INTRUDER ALERT.”
BEEEP. “INTRUDER ALERT.”
Trouble and Strife
reat-uncle Faisal moved from his chair like a rocket. Hands whirring and eyes flashing, he took to the brass console on his workbench. Whiskers was perched on his shoulder with all the tail-wagging concentration of a robotic dog-mouse. Ned didn’t need his perometer to know – danger had found them. The question was: how much and from where?
“Console – enact safety protocols,” said Faisal.
“SAFETY PROTOCOLS ENACTED.”
And with that the lights stopped flashing red and the museum went eerily quiet.
“Hmm, sensors are picking up multiple signals. Don’t worry, this little home from home of mine has a fairly robust set of tricks up its sleeves.”
An old-fashioned curved telly by the console blinked into life, the image on its black and white screen flitting from room to room. It stopped by Faisal’s storage area, somewhere near the first exhibit.
“Multiple life forms, section 1-A.” This time Faisal’s security announcement spoke in something of a whisper.
The picture was hard to make out, the only source of light being the sliver that was coming in from a newly forced window. Even so, the three silhouettes Ned saw there were unmistakable – a shrunken bowler hat, an oversized shoe. One tall, one small and one impossibly fat.
“Clowns!” spat Ned.
There were few sights Ned hated more than that of Barbarossa’s hideous clowns, Eanie, Meanie and Mo. He could almost smell the reek of them coming through the monitor. Ned had had several run-ins with them before and knew well what they were capable of, how fast they could run and with what cruelty they worked their gifts.
“Faisal, your security ‘tricks’, how good are they exactly?” asked Lucy.
“Oh, quite capable of dealing with clowns, I assure you.”
On cue, Ned watched as Faisal’s clockwork exhibits showed themselves. From under chairs and tabletops, from shelves and storage boxes, his tiny wind-up men sprang to life, an army of angry dolls. And they were fast – but the clowns were faster. As the throng of little mercenaries closed in, Eanie nodded to Meanie and the tallest of the three opened a small box from his pocket. Ned could barely see them, but he could hear them through the speakers well enough.
Bzzzzz …
Ticker flies poured out of the box and on to Faisal’s security detail. One by one the little creatures stopped in their tracks, before turning to the three intruders and standing to attention with a salute. A large plume of noisy, boiling steam erupted from the top of Faisal’s head.
“If they can do that to my wee men, they can do that to the rest of my system!” said Faisal.
“T-that would seem to be the case,” stammered the Tinker, who was watching the three clowns lead the throng of tickers through his great-uncle’s museum towards his living quarters.
On the screen, Mo turned to the little wind-u
ps. “Quick flick, little soldies, open doorsy. Big bruvvers wants to say helloo.”
They all watched in abject horror as Faisal’s security system turned on itself and opened the locking mechanism to Faisal’s quarters.
A door swung open and through it stepped Eanie, Meanie and Mo, evil smiles on their painted faces.
But it was what stepped through after them that turned Ned’s blood to ice. Great hulking slabs of polished and buffed iron marched through the door till the room was filled with the sound of the clattering, chattering and ticking of at least ten Guardian-class tickers. And unlike in the taiga, there was no fleet of Chinooks flying in to save the day, and there was absolutely nowhere to hide or run to.
Eanie turned away from his metal warriors, both large and small, and stared directly up at the security camera. Cracked make-up and low lighting did little to hide the clown’s excitement as he smiled, displaying a row of stumped teeth.
“Jossy boy come vit cloons noo. Live or deady, it noo matter.”
Sharp Exit
evolting little thing, isn’t he?” puffed Faisal. “I think we’ll be wanting to use the exit strategy.”
“I’d say that might be prudent, Great-uncle. And said exit would be …?”
“There, on the monitor – see the room the clowns have just walked into?”
Ned, Lucy and Tinks peered at the screen.
“There’s an emergency exit behind the stage.”
“Ah,” said Ned. “Not much immediate use then.”
“No,” said Great-uncle Faisal, “perhaps not.”
“Where exactly is that room?” asked Lucy nervously.
“Just the other side of this door.”
Right then from under the doorway came the telltale sound of the padding of oversized shoes.
A spring audibly broke in the old machine’s head.
Great-uncle Faisal picked up a large adjustable spanner from his workbench and handed it to Tinks.
“You need me to fix you?”
“No, Tinks, I need you to hit clowns with it,” he said. He then took Whiskers from his shoulder and placed him on the floor. “Now, young scamp, before you were a mouse you were a dog, and this was once your home. We have intruders – I think you know what to do.”
The Debussy Mark Twelve’s fur bristled, its little clockwork gears beating with the brave soul of a mighty St Bernard, ready to protect its lair.
“Scree!”
“That’s the spirit, ma boy!”
Ned grabbed a wrench from the table. He might not have had his powers any more, but he could still take a swing at Eanie and his cronies.
“Everyone, get either side of the door. I’ve got a plan,” said Ned and promptly flicked the light switch to his side.
Great-uncle Faisal went to one side of the opening as quietly as his aged pistons would allow; Tinks and Lucy took the other side, while Ned held back in the shadows.
“Gorrn?” whispered Ned.
But the familiar was already ahead of him, oozing flat to the ground and stretching along the floor of the doorway. To anyone else, he would have looked like a shadow across the floor. Their trap was almost ready to spring. Finally Whiskers got himself into position, his tiny mouse bottom on the floor, his back upright and little chest heaving. For a moment Ned could almost see the St Bernard that he’d been, till the “Woof!” he’d no doubt wanted to bark came out as a minor “Scree!” instead.
Then the door swung open.
Eanie was the first to approach.
The passing of time had done little to dull the revulsion Ned felt for him. Even smaller than a minutian but with none of their kindness or cleverness, the clown’s silhouette came across the doorway. He wore the same bowler hat and oversized shoes, had the same straggly orange hair. But it was the smell that made Ned want to wretch.
It was a smell like rotting fish and pickles, bin juice and malice; he would recognise it anywhere.
Eanie looked down and saw Whiskers, just as planned.
“Mousie, is it? I members you. You da boyz friendy.”
Whiskers knew as well as Ned what the creature was capable of, but he didn’t budge, not even an inch.
Eanie may well have been a coward, and dumb, but dumb cowards can make for cunning adversaries when it comes to the setting of traps. Eanie peered through the doorway carefully, eyes squinting at the dark.
“Jossy boy? I knows it’s you – I sees your mousie. Come out and I makes it quick-r-snick, no needs for smashin’ or bashin’.”
Ned’s muscles tensed and knotted. Every fibre of him wanted to lash out and attack, but things were different now. His powers had left him and they needed the advantage of surprise – of a trap.
And as the clown stepped through the doorway and bent down towards Ned’s mouse, the trap was sprung.
Eanie’s eyes crossed with pain as Gorrn rose up from the ground and all around him like a black tidal wave. A second later and his muffled scream was pulled into the darkness by Ned’s familiar, before fading to a sickening silence. Whatever Gorrn might have done to him, Ned was glad of it and so were the others, Tinks, Faisal and Lucy all sighing with relief from the shadow of the doorway.
One down, two to go. But the others came fast and Gorrn, Ned guessed, was still digesting, or whatever it was a familiar did after swallowing a clown whole. Meanie found the lights and Mo barrelled into the room with an angry snarl, eyes wild and arm ready for punching.
“Wotcha dun wit’ Eanie?!” he hollered. “Mo makes sneaksie boy pay, Mo grind your bones ta bits ’n’ bobs, and then he end da girlie!”
Ned looked at the creature in horror. Great loose lips stretched over a red and greedy mouth. Nothing the creature wore fitted him, because nothing could fit the unbreakable ball of blubber that was his belly. Every stitch and seam was frayed to bursting and his tiny bowler hat made his face look even larger and more eager to catch his prey.
Behind the creature, Meanie was struck from the side by Tinks’s spanner. But the clown was built of stronger stuff and turned on the minutian violently. Two swings of his blackjack club and both Tinks and his great-uncle lay motionless on the floor.
Immediately, Ned struck out at Mo with his wrench but it just bounced off harmlessly.
“Silly jossy-boy. You can’t hurts Mo – no one hurts da big one.”
“Yeah, silly sneaksie jossy-boy,” said Meanie, and where there had been one clown there now stood two.
“Lucy, get behind me,” seethed Ned. The creature’s belly might be impenetrable, but Ned was quite certain that the two clowns’ knees would feel a wrench if it was swung hard enough.
Lucy brushed by Ned quietly and approached the clowns. Meanie grinned and Mo’s tummy rumbled as if he’d just sat down to a Sunday roast.
“Gentlemen?”
“Girlie?” grinned Mo.
“You have frightened, bullied and shot people that I care about deeply,” said Lucy.
“What’s it to you, prissy whissy?!” barked Mo.
Lucy raised her hand and closed her eyes. “I would like you to STOP.”
And that’s exactly what they did. Both of the clowns froze in motion – mid-chew, mid-breath, mid-moody and menacing glare. It was as if time had stopped, but only for the clowns.
Ned couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Wha-what did you do?!”
“I’ve been practising. Their minds think they’re asleep, so they’ve stopped moving. I can’t fool them forever, though. Quickly, we need to get out of …”
But her words trailed away.
At the door was a horror in metal, pointed and sharp, with arms for pinching and cutting, and soulless eyes fixed wholly on Ned.
Tick, tick, tick.
No Exit
hat’s it,” said Ned. “That’s the only way out, Lucy. We’re trapped.”
And as he said it, both Mo and Meanie started to break from Lucy’s hold. Whiskers was standing mournfully over a passed-out Great-uncle Faisal while Gorrn had slithered his
way back to Ned, his great form bellowing and wobbling like a nervous jellyfish. Gorrn was frightened of few things, but metal did not feel teeth, at least not his teeth – that much the familiar knew.
“Dum-dum,” came Mo’s bass-bellied drawl. “We nots here for catchy, we’s here for crush an’ smush. No more jossy-boy, no more girlie-girl.”
The eyes of the Guardians turned red and the automatons paced towards Ned, gears whirring and sharpened claws at the ready. Defenceless, he backed up against the wall behind him, now desperately trying to fire his ring. He thought of metal, of fire and stone – anything that he could use. The air spat and crackled in front of him … and then just as quickly fizzled to nothing.
The clowns pushed their way to the front.
“Smush an’ crush, frik an’ frak,” grimaced Meanie, with Mo snarling beside him.
The clowns had just raised their clubs to strike when there was a rumbling from behind Ned, on the other side of the wall.
CRASH!
Something burst through the old brickwork like a furred bulldozer. Bricks were flung out in a violent spray to Ned’s side, striking the clowns hard.
“George!” Ned and Lucy shouted in unison.
“ROARGHH!” George bellowed, leaping into the centre of the room.
As the brick dust settled, George took in the situation – the Tinker and his uncle on the floor, Lucy and Ned backed against the broken wall. His eyes met Ned’s and for a moment they softened, before all semblance of Ned’s kind friend vanished.
Untitled Novel 3 Page 11
